


don't touch, never speak

by skylights



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/pseuds/skylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the way that Charles starts: seated, with his legs pressed tightly together and body ramrod straight against a high backed chair, book held neatly in his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't touch, never speak

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for an intelligent, moving story with plot, this really isn't it. 
> 
> But if you're looking for Erik as a rich patron who likes to watch sex worker!Charles entertain him in private booths, this might be something like that. Maybe, if you squint really hard. From fifty yards away.

It's a gloved hand that strikes the match for Erik's cigarette, holding it up in the echo of that dry, fiery rasp so that Erik doesn't even have to lean forward to have the end come alight. Steady. Professional. Exactly what Erik has come to expect from establishments such as these.

"Will there be anything else you need, sir?"

The first drag goes down bitter-smooth and Erik is already slipping the attendant a crisp fifty by the time he exhales. 

"No," he says. The presence that has been hovering at his side takes a step back, fading back into inconsequence. In a minute, Erik will cease to remember that anyone else had even been in the room with him. "No, that will do for now."

"Sir," comes the low, appreciative murmur before the door clicks shut and Erik can take a shakier pull now, slouch a little deeper in the warm leather of his armchair. Alone, finally, but not for long.

And so it begins.

  


* * *

  


This is the way that Charles starts: seated, with his legs pressed tightly together and body ramrod straight against a high backed chair, book held neatly in his lap. The flash of a book spine hints at Foucault and Erik can already feel something dark start to curl behind his ribs when Charles flips slowly through the pages, body losing some of that string-taut tension as he makes his way through a chapter. 

Three pages. Four. Five. 

There's colour starting to stain the proud curve of his cheeks and his breathing is controlled, still, but Erik can see the rise and fall of Charles' chest, inhale growing a little deeper with every second. 

What will it be, this time? 

Erik remembers nights where Charles had shuddered apart on his knees and came with every item of clothing still in place, hand cupped around the stained front of his trousers. Other nights as well, where Charles would spread himself wide with his fingers and meet Erik's gaze when he rubbed himself against the glass, cock flushed and smearing wet streaks all over it until Erik could feel his mouth water for just the smallest of tastes. 

Erik has yet to be disappointed with whatever Charles has to offer, in any case, and like all nights with the other man, he has patience to spare.

 _Aesthetics, Method, Epistemology_ must be a fascinating tome because Charles is starting to squirm in his seat, bottom lip bitten red before he lets his mouth open in a small _oh_. Erik watches, enraptured, as Charles shifts further up the seat of his chair and pushes against the back until his legs are falling open, book snapped shut to lie abandoned on the floor. 

With his legs spread wide and hips lifted, it's almost as if it pains Charles to stay still. The fabric of Charles' trousers is already outlining the generous fill of his cock in wanton detail as Charles grips the edges of his chair and Erik is absently aware of his own grip on the tumbler of whiskey he's using as a grounding point, something to keep his hand from drifting too soon.

The Macallan has been aged thirty years, but when Erik downs the remains, it's like tasting nothing at all.

Beyond the glass that separates them, Charles has already bypassed the self-control that Erik is clinging so desperately onto and Erik forces himself to do nothing except watch as Charles presses the heel of his palm against his groin, rubbing it back and forth over where his cock head must be. His eyes have gone shuttered, legs trembling, and Erik doesn't know how he does it, but somehow he finds it in himself to set the tumbler down before he accidentally crushes the damned thing. 

Like this, Charles is better than any high. Than any drug, any slow burn of alcohol in his veins.

Like this, Charles is breathing in small, tiny gasps when he finally starts to unbutton his trousers, pulling his neatly tucked-in shirt out of the way and sliding the zip down with shaky hands. Erik draws in a breath.

Of course he's wearing nothing underneath. _Of course_. 

A lift of his hips and Charles has his trousers down around his ankles, kicked away to the corner of the cramped little booth while he raises his shirt to let Erik see how he's touching himself, hand wrapped around the swollen length of his erection. _For you_ , the expression on Charles' face seems to say as he watches Erik watch him, legs spread to hook an ankle around each front leg of the chair. Opened up like this, Erik can see the base of the plug that's seated inside of Charles. See how it hums and buzzes and make Charles start to sob as he thrusts helplessly into his own hand. _All for you._

At a crook of Erik's finger, Charles slides off his seat and to settle smoothly on his knees, close enough for his breath to fog the glass. Almost close enough as well, for Erik to lean forward and press the pads of his fingers to where the condensation masks the red of Charles' lips, if he wanted to, but instead, Erik just allows himself a leisurely stroke of his own erection. His fingers ghost over where his cock strains under the fabric and Erik's breath stutters when he rubs at the head, thumb passing over it again and again until the spot is damp with pre-come. 

_Charles_ , he wants to say when Charles inches closer to the glass, but Erik only bites down on the inside of cheek to stop from speaking, choosing to finally unzip himself to pulls his cock out instead. Charles wets his lips. Shifts, so that he has one leg pulled up and the other stretched, bared wide open for Erik's gaze. 

This close, Erik can see how hard Charles keeps clenching down on the plug inside of him, how Charles' balls have drawn high and tight. He'll come soon, if he doesn't stop.

"I want to see you fuck yourself," Erik hears himself say and heat flickers past Charles' face at the words, the weight of it settling into his eyes as his other hand strays towards where the plug is vibrating. "Don't stop until I tell you to."

The plug is slick when Charles pulls it out and Erik is transfixed by the trickle of lube that follows it, mouth gone dry and hand stilled around the base of his cock when Charles _shoves_ it back in. Pushes, pulls, repeats, until he's set a punishing rhythm for himself, head bowed and breathing hard enough for every exhale to come through grit teeth. Charles is still working at his cock, too, the wet sound of him fucking into his own hand in tandem with the plug enough to make Erik groan and spurt more pre-come. 

He could come, right there and then, but he needs to see Charles fall apart first.

Almost as if overhearing Erik's thoughts, Charles makes a broken, keening sound that makes Erik's mouth go dry. He's sliding the plug back in at an angle this time and it's a twist of his wrist that finally pushes him over the edge, Charles coming _hard_ with his cock twitching in his hand as he marks the glass with long spurts of come. 

Charles had left the plug inside himself when he came and Erik can see how Charles is tightening around it, see how– _oh_. 

Charles' grip on the plug is loose and the pace, less intense than before, but he's still fucking himself after he's come, stained hand braced on the inside of his thigh spread himself as far as he can go. 

Erik hasn't told him to stop. 

The realisation is a brutal one and Erik's hips jerk off the seat when he comes messily into his own hand, thumb kneading against his slit until he's oversensitive enough for it to hurt. 

"Stop," Erik breathes, with his come still warm between his fingers. "Stop, you can stop."

And so Charles stops.

The both of them, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

Charles, stripped from the waist-down on the floor with the muscles of his thighs still quivering, plug finally set aside.

Erik, hand stilled on his softening cock and the trousers of his bespoke suit utterly ruined.

"Have a good night, sir," Charles will say softly in parting before he leaves with the slightest of smiles and later, Erik will tip him extra.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, yeah. I honestly wanted this to feature smooth, suave, rich-as-fuck crime boss Erik Lehnsherr and sultry, sex kitten Charles but that didn't quite happen because I got lazy, so I'll just...be not here now. Also, it's 1am on a schoolnight. What am I _doing_ with my life?


End file.
